My Fiancé's Ferrari

My father called me at my top-secret facility post and ordered me home for an arranged marriage.
My fiancé was perfect on paper—handsome, successful, chairman of the region’s top corporation.
Due to my security clearance, I couldn’t fly commercial. My commanding officer lent me his personal vehicle to help me make a good impression.
I arrived at my fiancé’s headquarters on time. While backing into a parking spot, a red Ferrari screeched toward me. I hit it before I could brake.
The driver, a smug-looking woman, rolled down her window and yelled, “Are your eyes in your ass? Do you even know how to drive?”
I took a deep breath. “You cut me off and tried to steal my spot. How is this my fault?”
She scoffed. “My spot? Listen, tramp—every cent that hits the ground in Port Sterling belongs to the Hale family. Got it?”
I paused, then called my fiancé. “I hear the Hale family runs this city. Is that true?”

1
If it wasn't for my father, I wouldn't have even bothered to make the call.
Crashing my CO’s car was a problem that money alone couldn't fix. If my future husband showed a reasonable amount of remorse, I might be able to make this whole incident disappear.
"I'm busy. Get to the point," a clipped, impatient voice answered.
"Mr. Hale, I think it would be in your best interest to come downstairs personally. Otherwise—"
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone. Are all rich people this arrogant?
The woman in the Ferrari saw my stunned expression and burst out laughing. "And here I thought you were some big shot. Turns out you're all talk. Just pay up. If Mr. Hale finds out his car's been damaged, you won't be leaving Port Sterling in one piece."
She glanced at my car's out-of-state plates and my age, dismissing me completely.
"Ma'am, are you even capable of rational thought?" I shot back. "You're the one who illegally changed lanes and tried to steal my spot. I should be the one demanding compensation, yet here you are, trying to extort me." I pointed to the security camera overhead. "That's recording everything. You keep lying, and I'll call the police."
At the mention of the police, she became even more belligerent. "Go ahead, little bitch! Call them! I guarantee you'll just end up paying more."
Her voice grew louder, and the acrid smell of alcohol filled the air. My hand tightened into a fist. "The reason you don't want me to call the police... is because you've been drinking, haven't you?"
Her response was to shove me hard. "What I drink is none of your damn business! Pay up! You try to skip out on this, and I'll make sure you never leave this city!"
I’d spent years in the service with minimal contact with civilians. I had no idea how to deal with a shrew like this. Her sheer audacity was starting to piss me off. "You hit my car and you're blaming me? Are you insane?"
Her accusation prompted a wave of murmurs from the gathering crowd.
"Damn, that girl's got guts. Yelling at Ms. Wright? She must have a death wish."
"That's Mr. Hale's car. Most people wouldn't dare breathe on it, and she just crashed into it."
"She picked the wrong person to mess with. Wendy Wright is Mr. Hale's right-hand woman!"
The whispers seemed to inflate Ms. Wright's ego. "You dare call me insane? You must be tired of living!"
Her threats were laughable. "Ms. Wright, I suggest you watch your mouth. If you push me too far, not even your boss will be able to handle the consequences."
"Watch my ass!" she shrieked. Words failing her, she rolled up her sleeves and lunged at me.
"What's the matter? People in Port Sterling resort to violence when they lose an argument?"
She swung at me wildly, but her slaps met nothing but air.
"Stand still, you little bitch! Just wait 'til I call Mr. Hale!"
Despite her repeated provocations, I didn't retaliate. I just dodged. It wasn't because I was afraid of her. Before I left, my CO had given me a direct order: "Your actions reflect on the unit. Do not engage in conflict with civilians."
Besides, I didn't know how to "fight." My training was a different matter entirely. I don't throw punches. I end threats. One move.
Seeing my non-aggression as weakness, she charged again, fist raised.
In that split second, a furious voice roared from behind me.
"Stop!"

2
"Wendy! You're my personal assistant. What are you doing, brawling in the street?"
A man, flanked by bodyguards, strode toward me. It had to be Damian Hale.
"You're Ivy?" he asked.
I took him in. I had to admit, my father had good taste. He was tall, at least six-one, in a bespoke suit that screamed power and style. The only flaw was the icy contempt in his eyes as he looked at me.
"Mr. Hale. A pleasure. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ivy, and I'm from—"
"Don't bother," he cut me off with a wave of his hand. "We're not compatible. Go back to wherever you came from."
For a second, I thought I'd misheard. I had just driven for over ten hours straight to get here. I hadn't even had a sip of water. And he was dismissing me without a second thought? Was he playing me for a fool?
My temper flared. "You must be Damian Hale, my father's choice for a son-in-law," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Telling me to leave without even letting me finish a sentence is hardly polite, wouldn't you say?"
His expression soured. "Polite? Ms. Ivy, take a look at this building. Then take a look at yourself. Do you really think you're in my league?" He scanned me from head to toe. "I don't know what my father was thinking, setting me up with a gold-digging trophy wife like you."
The crowd erupted again.
"What? She's Mr. Hale's fiancée? No way!"
"A country bumpkin like her trying to marry into the Hale family? She should look in a mirror."
"Damian Hale is every woman's dream in Port Sterling! I, for one, object to this marriage!"
Their chatter was giving me a headache. When had I ever said I wanted to marry him? Even if I did, it would require approval from the highest levels of command.
"Fine, fine. I'm a trophy wife, you're the great tycoon, happy?" I said, my patience worn thin. "Since you're not interested, can I have the dowry back, please? My mother specifically told me to get the money back if the engagement fell through."
My mother had said no such thing. I just couldn't stand his arrogance.
As I expected, Wendy Wright shot forward. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, you little bitch? Mr. Hale is the youngest self-made billionaire in the history of this city! You think he cares about your pocket change?"
Now I truly understood the meaning of the word "sycophant."
"Ms. Wright, I'm simply asking for what is mine. His net worth is irrelevant."
My words made Damian's face flush with anger. "It was eighty thousand, right? I'll give it back." He pulled out his phone and wired me the money. "Here's a hundred thousand. The extra is for your travel expenses."
A small smile played on my lips. "Why, thank you so much, Mr. Hale."
I turned to leave, but Wendy's shriek stopped me. "Hold it, you little bitch!"
I paused, turning slowly. "What is it, Ms. Wright? Did you want to invite me to dinner?"
She shot me a venomous smirk and whispered something in Damian's ear. A second later, the so-called youngest billionaire in Port Sterling exploded with rage.
"Ivy! You crashed my car?"

3
From Wendy’s triumphant expression, I could tell she’d spun a tale painting me as the villain. A classic case of deflecting blame. Given Damian's attitude, I knew explaining would be a waste of breath.
"Name your price," I said flatly. "I'll pay."
Damian seemed taken aback by my immediate admission. "Pay? Can you afford it? This Ferrari was an eighteenth birthday present from my father. It's one of three in the world, the only one in this country. A single scratch is worth more than your life. What could you possibly pay with?"
I arched an eyebrow, a cool smile on my face. "Just give me a number, Mr. Hale. Whether I can afford it is my business."
"Ten million!" Wendy screeched before he could answer. "The entire front end is dented. It can't be repaired here; it has to be sent back to the factory in Italy."
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Even Damian looked surprised.
"Wendy, the car only cost a little over ten million new. A bumper repair shouldn't cost that much, should it?"
She waved a dismissive hand. "Mr. Hale, you're not seeing the bigger picture. This was a gift from your father. The sentimental value is immense, wouldn't you agree? Ten million is a bargain, really. We're practically doing her a favor."
Damian considered her words and nodded slowly. "Fine. Ten million it is."
I didn't give them a chance to reconsider. "Done."
Every eye in the parking lot was on me. Some thought I was bluffing, others suspected I was more than I appeared, and the rest were just enjoying the show. Their opinions were irrelevant.
What was relevant, however, was that my car was also damaged. While not as severe as the Ferrari, the rear bumper had several deep scratches. If it had been a standard production car, Wendy’s reckless maneuver would have totaled it.
"Now that we've settled the matter of your car, Mr. Hale," I said, my voice deceptively sweet, "shall we discuss mine?" My smile widened. "It's a domestic model, so thankfully it won't need to be shipped overseas for repairs."

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